Classic Poem

How godlike he, whose gen'rous breast
Melts at the woes of the distrest;
Whose lib'ral feelings unconfin'd
Take in the whole of human kind!
What though his breast oft heave a sigh,
And oft a tear suffuse his eye?
What though, alas! he's doom'd to grieve
At mis'ry which he can't relieve?
Ev'n whilst the tear of pity flows,
The mind a purer pleasure knows
Than that which springs from sensual joys,
And madding laughter's empty noise.
And, though the sympathetic tear
May fall unmark'd, or slighted here,
It shall not scape divine regard,
Nor pass without its due reward.